


reality paved in gold

by tuesday



Category: Don't Sing - DATA ft. Benny Sings (Music Video)
Genre: Canon Relationships, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28126050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: "I'm okay," Jimmy said cheerfully.  He looked down at the dog in his arms, its little tail wagging with all the excitement.  "We're okay."Jane thought maybe they could do a bit better than okay.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	reality paved in gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elfgrandfather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrandfather/gifts).



> This picks up right from the ending of the music video. I've given all of the characters names. It should all be readily apparent who is whom, but just in case, here's a quick reference for each of them:
> 
> Car crash neighbor boy: Jimmy  
> Family murder fantasy daughter: Charity  
> Family murder fantasy daughter's dad: Obadiah  
> Family murder fantasy daughter's mom: Marcia  
> Family murder fantasy daughter's brother: John  
> Religious kink guy: Paul  
> Religious kink guy's wife: Judi  
> Cannibal fantasy neighbor: Jane Forrester  
> Cannibal fantasy neighbor's husband/punching bag fantasy guy: Phil Forrester
> 
> I'm personally reading the car crash neighbor boy and familicidal daughter as at least late teens (18? 19?), but I've left it vague enough for you to go with your own preferred reading.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Jane knew what it was she was seeing. It wasn't subtle. Little Jimmy from down the block—blood streaming down his face, car flipped behind him, dog clutched in his arms—gave her a once over with the sort of heat her worthless husband hadn't been able to summon in years. Jimmy's smile was bright like a sunny summer's day back when she was young enough that summer meant vacation and freedom rather than a fight over how high to crank the A/C and whether the grass needed mowing yet. (For the record, the Homeowners Association was very clear that seven inches was too damn long.) He'd just been in a wreck, but he was practically glowing with vitality.

Phil stood beside her, tried to touch her hand like he hadn't learned from the attempted shoulder grab. Jane very nearly slashed him with the knife she'd been using to prepare dinner.

"I'm okay," Jimmy said cheerfully. He looked down at the dog in his arms, its little tail wagging with all the excitement. "We're okay."

Jane thought maybe they could do a bit better than okay. It was a warm, happy thought she'd take back to the kitchen with her. Maybe someday she'd take Jimmy, too.

—

Charity truly was the sweetest girl, teary-eyed with her relief that that Jimmy kid hadn't died. Paul didn't look, not really, not any more than anyone else did, but her innocent joy was obvious to the crowd. He traded polite smiles with Phil, tugging his sleeves down over the fuzzy cuffs, then Obadiah once he'd pulled Jimmy out of the wreck. Paul did his best to project a normal person who hadn't just been having sex with his wife in the middle of the afternoon while picturing his neighbor's daughter in her place.

"That poor kid," Judi murmured sympathetically beside him. She probably hadn't noticed the half-hard bulge filling out said kid's jeans. People had weird reactions to pain and adrenaline, but Paul had to wonder if Jimmy's wreck wasn't the natural result of some truly distracted driving. He was a teenager, so privacy was at a premium, but he could have at least parked first.

"Poor kid," Paul echoed. "I hope he has good insurance." He looked back at their house, eyes completely coincidentally skimming past Charity again. "Want to head back, finish up our ... nap?"

"Paul," Judi said, half-chiding, half-amused.

"Everyone's okay, and Obie has this in hand. We didn't see it, so we don't need to stick around as witnesses." Paul smiled at Judi, a little more real than what he gave the neighbors, and she smiled back.

"I am still tired," Judi said.

Hand in hand, they sought out some privacy of their own to pick up where they'd left off.

—

"You can use our phone," Obadiah said. His usually stern expression had softened slightly in the face of a near tragedy. It always amazed Charity how nice he could be to other people's children.

"I can call," Marcia said quickly, patting Charity's arm and quirking her lips slightly in a show of apparent friendliness, but Heaven forbid they actually let someone else in the house. The last time Charity had gotten to have a friend over, she'd been thirteen. "John, you can grab anything Jimmy needs from the car, can't you?"

"Mom—" John said in a whining, reluctant voice.

"Listen to your mother," Obadiah said, voice hard again.

"There's broken glass!" John protested.

"I can do it," Charity said. She peeked at Jimmy, who was checking his dog over for injuries, only for Obadiah to step in front of him.

"Not in that dress," Obadiah said. Which. It was a skirt, and it came down to her knees. It wasn't like she would be crawling around in a mini skirt flashing her underwear. Obadiah pressed his lips together in a way that spelled trouble. "John. Honor your mother. Help your neighbor. A little bit of broken glass won't kill you." Unspoken was the implication that Obadiah might—or at the very least make John wish he was dead.

"Fine." John sulked his way toward the overturned station wagon, pulled open the passenger side door, and, brushing aside bits of glass, crawled inside.

"I don't think there's anything I need?" Jimmy said.

"Get everything out of the glove box, at least," Obadiah ordered. "Your mother will need his insurance card for calling his insurance." Obadiah finally turned and acknowledged Jimmy again but only to ask, "Should we call your parents, too?"

"They're still out of town," Jimmy said. Charity wondered what that was like, the freedom to have the house all to herself. "It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"What are neighbors for if not to take care of each other?" Marcia said. She went to stand by the passenger side door, accepting documents as John passed them out. "Oh, we have the same insurance company!"

"Should I take the bullets out, too?" John asked.

"You keep bullets in the glove box?" Obadiah did not look impressed with Jimmy's choices. Then again, he never looked impressed with anyone's choices. For instance, right now, as he switched to throwing Charity a warning look as she inched closer to Jimmy and the wreck.

"It keeps them from getting everywhere," Jimmy said.

"They're all over the car ceiling now," John said.

"Should I call an ambulance, too?" Marcia asked.

"We can drive him ourselves if he needs it." Obadiah fixed Jimmy with another gimlet stare. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"I don't think so?"

"I'll go make the necessary calls." Marcia bustled off, back into the house.

Jimmy shifted his dog in his arms, and midway through the movement, his eyes caught Charity's. He smiled, rakish and charming with all the blood. Obadiah's frown deepened. John yelped as his hand caught on a broken bit of windshield.

This was _so much_ better than a stupid family birthday party. Almost as good as the way she'd pictured it going before the wreck had brought Charity crashing back to reality.

—

Obadiah had everything under control, and Jane hadn't finished dinner, so Phil accompanied her back home. He hadn't finished his workout in the backyard, but somehow the fantasy of punching that annoying Paul as many times as it took to wipe the smile off his face had lost its luster when faced with actual injuries on someone he knew.

Jimmy had smiled sweetly at everyone, happy go lucky and unaware of how close he'd come to disaster. Phil couldn't remember ever being that young or oblivious.

"So what are we making?" Phil asked as he stepped in the kitchen at Jane's heels. A slab of meat was laid out with a few vegetables. It looked pretty good, actually.

"I'm making a roast." Jane pointed with the knife. "You're going to go mow the lawn."

"It's within regulation!" Phil couldn't believe they were about to have this argument all over again. "It's not good for the grass to keep it too short."

"Then find something else to do." Jane went to the sink to wash the knife and her hands despite not having touched anything. "I need space to cook."

How much more space did she need? It was a big kitchen.

"There's nothing left that needs doing," Phil said.

"There's always something that needs doing." Jane sighed. She dried the knife and set it down on the center island. "You're the one who wanted a house in the suburbs. A _life_ in the suburbs. It's not my fault if the reality doesn't live up to the fantasy of living here."

"We didn't even get to have a white picket fence," Phil said grousingly instead of talking about the kids they didn't have or the neighbors he hated or the HOA whose rulebook he wanted to burn on the grill. He stared at the half-dressed roast instead of Jane's unhappy face. Almost pleadingly, he asked, "It's not all bad, is it?"

"It's pretty bad." When Phil snuck a look, Jane was also staring at the roast. Her lips curled up the slightest bit. Whatever she was thinking of, Phil was glad to see a shadow of the smile he'd fallen in love with. "But I think it has potential."

It wasn't the answer he wanted, but Phil thought he could work with that. Yeah, maybe the reality didn't match up yet, but maybe it could someday.

—

When all the excitement was over, Jimmy collected the pheasants he'd shot and which had spilled out in the Millners' yard and went home. He put the pheasants in the freezer, set princess loose in the living room, cleaned up a little, and then shut himself in his room. He thought about that look Mrs. Forrester had met his smile with, the shock and flattery and consideration.

He spread out on the bed and pictured her letting herself in the house, saying, "Jimmy? Jimmy, I'm here to check up on you. Are you really okay?"

"Mmm, it hurts," Jimmy said.

It hurt, but Mrs. Forrester could make it all better. And in Jimmy's fantasy, she did. What did reality matter when his thoughts were so much nicer?


End file.
